Page 52 of Bait N' Witch

“Cold?” he asked.

She smiled and lowered herself to the couch. “Something about that spot. It’s always freezing.”

“I know. It’s been that way since…”

Why’d he pause? “Since?”

His lips tipped in a self-deprecating smile. “You’ll think it’s silly, but that spot showed up when my grandmother, Essie, died. I sometimes feel it around the cat, too.”

“You’re not the only one,” Rowan murmured, glancing around surreptitiously. If Grandma Essie was a spirit, what did she think about all this?

And why didn’t I see her that night I was in the spirit realm?

With a whispered spell from Grey, the fireplace blazed to life, casting a cheerful light over the night-darkened room.

All through dinner, Rowan had seemed hesitant with him—quieter than she normally tended to be, not looking him in the eye, a fact that bothered him more than he should let it. He’d spent most of dinner trying to convince himself that his feelings weren’t as deep as they seemed and keeping the conversation impersonal and light, putting her at ease until she relaxed, but her tension had spilled over to him. He kept rolling his shoulders like that would help. It didn’t.

Now, seated with one foot tucked up beneath her, she cast him a sideways glance, catching him watching the play of the firelight over her hair. He had to admit to a certain fascination at the way the dancing light burnished the tresses in alternating patterns of gold, dark red, and black.

He’d been doing that a lot lately. Watching her. He wanted to do even more. Only he was trapped between that need and who she was to his family. But he couldn’t look away now. Idly he wondered if her hair would feel as silky against his fingers as he thought. The image of her tresses spread out over a pillow or across his chest had him sucking in a sharp breath.

He curled his fingers around the stem of his wineglass to keep from reaching out for her. “What did you end up doing today?”

Wrong thing to say. Rowan lowered her eyes, her expression turning guarded. “I went hiking.”

Greyson took a swallow of wine as he considered why hiking would be a wary subject for her. “Where?”

“Off Trail Ridge Road.”

Ah, where he’d suggested taking her. Ignoring the bite of what that meant, Greyson tried to flash a teasing grin. “If you didn’t want to spend the day with your boss, all you had to do was say so.”

Her hands twisted in her lap. What was wrong with her? “It wasn’t that—”

Enough.

Grey plonked his glass down, lucky he didn’t break it with the force, and sat forward so he could reach across the space between them. He put a hand over hers, which twisted in her lap. “Do I make you nervous, Rowan?”

She whipped her head to stare at him, both wary and surprised. “No.”

Liar. “So it’s my position as your boss? Or maybe with the Syndicate?”

“Not your position exactly…” Now she was hedging. “More what you do. I imagine you must be a powerful warlock to be the lead hunter for the Syndicate.”

“I would never use my power against you, Rowan. I hope you know that.”

A flash of emotion, something he couldn’t pin down, but which had his gut twisting like her hands had been, was there then gone. Replaced by what he was convinced was a deliberate cheeky grin, the same one that had stolen his breath the day she walked into the house unannounced, past all his wards, and spelled his daughters. “You couldn’t risk losing another nanny.”

Compelled by the teasing dancing in her eyes and the need to take and keep that smile for his own, Greyson scooted across the couch, closer to her, allowing her wildflower scent to wash over him. Rowan’s eyes widened at his nearness, though he didn’t touch her beyond his hand over hers. This close, even by the dim light of the fire, he could see flecks of blue in the gray irises. What would she do if he kissed every one of those freckles across the bridge of her nose? “I mean it. You will always be safe with me.”

Instead of relief or trust, a deep sadness fell over her expression like a storm racing across the sky, blocking the glow of the sun. And fear. Just before she closed her eyes, shutting him out. On the heels of a sensation akin to a punch to the gut, a fierce, protective instinct surged through him with a strength that shocked the hell out of him. But before he could say more, she closed the distance between them. Surprise held him immobile as she pressed her lips sweetly to his.

A thank-you. That was all. He knew that, could feel it.

He wanted to sink into the kiss, plunder her mouth, and possess her body, while at the same time cherishing everything she was. But she pulled back before he could act, eyes still closed.

“You’re a good man, Greyson Masters.”

Why was she using his full name? She only ever called him Grey.

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